


A lust: Unspoken

by phisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Doing instead of talking, Foreplay, M/M, Smut and Fluff, unspoken desire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen
Summary: Sometimes, it's easier to show instead of tell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

A hand, then an arm, draping themselves around him from behind. It wasn’t intentional, and so, it took a while for him to wake. Still weak, still dizzy from fever and an aching body, he came back, ever so slightly. To the feeling of him being close, his draped arm being closer.

He listened to the nothingness, backed by the irregular taps on the window from the rain outside. He had a hard time deciding if he was the only one who was actually there in the moment, lucid and aware. He tried to listen, but the breaths were too silent. His stomach expanding against the small of his back. Making gentle intrusions in a continual way, again and again.

He was feeling chilling rushes, like ripples against his scorching skin. Making him shudder, making hairs stand on end. As soon as he’d shivered, the chills became replaced. Turning into a dry heat that made him feel like he needed to get away, kick off his duvet and wait for the next assault of icy shivers to pinch him. Make him seek the haven underneath the duvet once more.

He decided to get up, take something for the ache and the fluctuating temperatures his body tried its best to manage on its own accord. He slid out of bed, trying to be gentle. Catching the arm that pooled off him, placing it slowly against the mattress. He was asleep, he figured, as he stood up and headed for the kitchen.

The air felt cool against his hot, naked skin as he walked the few steps over to the sink. Hearing nothing but the mellow sound his bare feet made against the floor. In order to keep the stillness, he turned on the faucet, just enough to create a thin but steady stream. The water needed to run for a minute or so to get cool, making a metallic hissing sound as it ran down the sink. Much like the rain against the windowsill. He opened a cupboard and took down the small box, marked with the telltale red cross. It was neatly organised, all thanks to him. The one sleeping in his bed.

It was something else, getting relief from the inside. He felt an immense satisfaction as the coolness of the water brought the pill down his throat, to where it would disintegrate and ultimately start doing good. He ran a hand against his chest as he put the glass away. He frowned at the clammy stickiness. It made him feel unattractive, self-conscious in a way. It was counterproductive, he was very aware of that, but decided against returning to bed without taking a shower.

He made sure to close the door, trying to be as silent as he possibly could. The water was a blessing, alleviating some of the debilitating flashes of heat with every drop that collided with him and his skin. He wanted to sustain that feeling, not drying himself off as he was done. Hoping that the evaporation would continue to soothe, for a little while longer. He left the bathroom, making tracks that in the end wouldn’t matter.

He had turned around, he noticed. Seemingly found his side of the bed. Not wearing his sleepwear anymore, which was understandable. He would have combusted sleeping next to him, especially being that close like he was before.

He cringed a little as he got back in bed, feeling the wet sheets. It was indeed counterproductive, that shower he had. But at the same time, it provided a artificial feeling of being a little bit more than what he was at the moment.

He rolled around on his side, starting to feel a slight chill again. The cue to cover up, just a little. He arranged the duvet so he had his torso free, still not trusting his body to keep an even temperature. That arrangement felt okay. For quite some time, he never felt the need to cover up more or expose himself.

As that prolonged feeling of normality started to make him comfortable, he could feel a sought after relaxation. Like he was getting heavier, closer to crossing the border of being awake and falling asleep. And then, he felt the smallest touch against his back. Again, the feeling of a hand preceding an arm until it was around him.

He sighed. One of contentment. For some reason, the heat he now felt against him was more rewarding than the cool he’d been chasing before. He angled the arm, made it rest against him higher up. Holding the hand in his, pressing it against his chest. Pulling the body behind him close. The feeling of an increased fatigue suddenly took over, as he got lulled into breathing in the same, slow rhythm. Every breath making it harder to be aware of his surroundings. Still, the only thing that could actively be heard was the rain, rapping on the window.

He wasn’t awake when the hand moved. Slowly wriggled itself out of his eased up grip. He awoke, just barely, as the hand found a new resting place. It felt good having it on his hip, and it didn’t take long before he felt the familiar pull. The one you feel when you cross the border to the reality that could differ so much from the one you’re used to. The one that had been speaking to him for a while, beckoning him to give in.

When the hand travelled again, he didn’t notice. He was finding his way in that other reality, having ventured far down the path so that a hand on his shoulder wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t be able to bring him back.

But he came running back, eventually. When exhales teased the back of his neck and a leg got put on top of his own, he felt as if he got called back, asked to hurry. With something between a groan and a sigh, he announced that he was with him. That he’d brought him back, if only just briefly.

It became still behind him. No exhales against the nape of his neck, although the leg remained where it was. He’d started to think that he’d been dreaming when he sensed the slightest of shifts. A hand had found its way into his hair, and as it did, it stayed immobile. Like its owner felt bad for bringing him back, but had to seek that refuge. He could hear him inhale, having him close to his ear. Probably smelling his damp hair. He let him and his hand be as he felt his eyelids getting heavier, hoping it was the last time he would be interrupted. No matter how endearing it was.

He never made it back to the place he sought, the hand in his hair let go and the leg disappeared from hugging his. Instead, that hand ended up on his thigh, barely touching him although he felt the warmth that radiated from the palm. He could feel warm exhales between his shoulder blades, one of his cheeks being flush against the skin of his back. Warming him up, with every little move. He could definitely fall asleep like this. If only he’d let him.

Feathery touches against his back followed, not made by fingers. They didn’t convince him, the hand did. The one that trailed along his thigh, and over his hip to finally stop against his stomach. He blinked, suddenly wide awake. It was always like this, with everything he did. Soft. Tentative. Like he was begging for forgiveness, asking to be excused. Although he had something else entirely in his mind.

He turned around, ended up on his back. Seeking the eyes of the talker and not the doer. He didn’t care that the hand had shifted as he’d turned, it suddenly being close to what it probably was seeking.

“Yuuri,” he said. His voice was low, a warm whisper that was loud enough for the two of them. “What do you want?”

Yuuri was a doer tonight too, it seemed. He rarely broke that character, and enforced who he was by sitting up and leaning in, delivering a kiss as both of his hands softly touched both sides of his neck. Black strands tickled his face as he kept his eyes open, trying to see him better in the darkness.

When the kiss grew weaker and eventually disappeared, dark eyes met his. Fingers were still against the sides of his neck, every exhale became a tickling caress against his face. He loved what he saw, him licking his lips after he had made that excruciating distance between them. It was probably an unconscious thing, he realised. He usually had little to no idea what his actions brought out. What reactions they evoked in situations like this, how it made him feel. It sparked something within him, like many times before. It made him more in tune with his intentions, his mindset. His need. But he wanted to hear him say it, just this once.

“Yuuri?” He raised his head, just enough to feel his lips against his own when he spoke. “You woke me up, play nice. What do you want?” He had a hard time keeping an indifferent face, pretending to be totally oblivious to the inner workings of his fiancée.

He felt the fingers disappear from his neck, the eyes travelled elsewhere. It was too dark in the bedroom they considered to be theirs, but he could imagine that his cheeks were hot and flushed. Not due to embarrassment, this time.

Now, he wanted to touch him too. See if the talker in him could be brought out. The talker did things to him that the doer couldn’t even dream of understanding. Brought them closer in a way beyond compare, if only with the help of a sigh. He was hoping for that sigh, hoping that something that small and seemingly unimportant could be nurtured. Strengthened. Evolved into something more vocal.

So, he touched him. Let his fingers dig into the skin of his thigh. Heaving himself up to be vis-a-vis. He could hear him inhale with a hiss, his weight channelled through the palm of his hand against his thigh must have hurt. When he was upright, he removed the hand and whispered an apology into his ear. Wanting something oral in return.

But he was steadfast, still the restrictive doer. Again, the apologies. The small careful measures. Not daring to invade, not daring to push. A polite question in every little thing he did, like the finger trailing the back of his hand. Like the leg that brushed up against him where they sat. Like the small huff of air against his shoulder. Still, not that sigh. But he was getting there. Taking him with him on that journey, no, on that quest.

“Yuuri,” he purred against his jaw. Leaving it at that, trying to foretell his next move. And the one after that, and the one after that. Trying with the utmost respect to persuade him to back himself in a corner, where he would make the call. The check mate.

He was anticipating him, though. Holding his own, seemingly deciding on shrugging off the persona when he was alone. When they were done. For now, he was continuing to dance at the masquerade. Being the gentle lead.

The doer grew slightly more bold, had found his resolve. More touches, not so apologetic anymore, but still with control. Not wanting to act forward, with an urge to stay pious for a little while. Strange how sweltering it felt, feeling his cool hands against his feverish skin. Making him shudder underneath his touch. An impossibility in its own right but still so indisputably true.

Two, maybe three fingers ran along the curve of the back of his arm only to find his shoulder, deliciously lingering there before they balanced on his collarbone like a tightrope. The other hand barely touching his side, tracing the contours of the the cage that kept everything attributed to life and love locked in, securely in place.

Yuuri was close, really close. So close that the energy he brought with him was palpable as he invaded, no, invited himself into his personal space.

“Love…” He tasted his shoulder, using more tongue than lips. Feeling jubilant as the sound of a small, sharp inhale stayed in the room. “What do you want?” He shifted, sat upright instead of being propped up on his arms. Now that his hands were free, he gave him the same frustration. The same debilitating rush, as he put some force behind the fingers clawing his back. Letting them ease up, become nothing more than a ghost of a touch as they reached the small of his back.

His head tilted back, black strands disappearing from his forehead. The sound was almost what he’d been waiting for, but it was a gasp more than anything else. Not that suspire he wanted to hear. But it was a definite reward, seeing those lips part, hearing the air pass his lips and everything it would entail.

He grabbed the leg closest to him by the bend of the knee, the other hand found his hip and he just put him there. On his lap, having his dark eyes looking down on him, his arms resting on top of his shoulders. He was rigid against him, against his stomach. He felt the telltale throb of him, acting on its own accord. The result of his body telling him that he wanted more. For it to continue. To get release. He had a hard time staying calm when he realised how flattering it was.

His breathing instantly picked up as he ended on top of him. He could hear him struggle, with every shivering breath, every try to wet his mouth by swallowing excessively. He was getting closer to where the mask would come off. Where who he wanted to see would get revealed.

He felt himself starting to get affected by everything unspoken. He could do a lot more, to him and with him, but he wanted that voice to speak the truth behind the actions. The need behind the excusing hands and the yearning behind the hot exhales.

Yuuri had a pulse now, he could almost hear it as he started to look for places to rest his hands. They visited his shoulders, his back, his upper arms, his chest. They weren’t satisfied, constantly looking for somewhere to regroup. When they found his hair, with his elbows recuperating on his shoulders, they became at ease. His heartbeats didn’t share that sentiment.

He put one hand flat against Yuuri’s back, his response to him bracing himself by holding on to his hair. He forced his hand to break the barrier, feeling fabric on top and perfect, rounded muscles underneath his palm.

“Tell me. Tell me love,” he said as his hand explored the already charted territory. How he loved that feel of him, the familiarity. With the hand still stroking, still cupping, still grabbing, he decided to make it more difficult. Knowing that the end of the game was approaching now that he sat with his legs that far apart.

He adjusted him, made him feel his own excitement with a small push and an almost invisible pull. And then, the sound. The sigh against his shoulder, followed by a little noise as he bowed down. His forehead needed somewhere to rest.

“I…” His voice sounded full. Full of expectations, full of heat, full of greed.

He pushed him away from his shoulder, breathed against his chest as he became upright. Let his tongue prime what his lips later decided to taste, gently nibbling until he got a mewl.

“I… ngh…” Oh, it was happening. The executor and the communicator were debating. Fervently. There was no doubt about which of them who would step down. The masquerade was to be over, and he freely gave up the lead.

Now, he was the one who was scorching. His mouth found his ear, being nothing but rugged breaths accompanied by soft whimpers. Almost inaudible, like he didn’t want either of them to hear what was about to get past his lips, he lost the game.

“I’m… I’m horny. Please, Victor, I can’tㅡ”

He silenced him. Brutally. With the effect of having Yuuri panting into his mouth as he desperately tried to keep up. Tried to meet him, his hunger and his tongue as his hands, entwined in the black hair, pulled him closer.

Finally, his inward rapture. Finally expressed.


	2. The B-side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Yuuri's perspective.
> 
> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

He was already awake when he got out of bed, softly putting his arm that had been around him only seconds ago on the mattress. He realised that he thought that he was sleeping, but little did he know that he’d been up for some time. That dream had made him… uneasy. Not in an uncomfortable way. It was inappropriate, rather. But pleasant.

His eyes lingered on him as he walked out of the bedroom. That body, it never ceased to make everything come to a complete standstill. But at the same time… it set things in motion. Especially now.

He realised he didn’t want that. He felt bad for him, being feverish and achy. Sweating up the sheets, tossing and turning. But then again, having him close, being that warm, being slightly impaired… He curled up, a feeble attempt to redirect his thoughts. He felt that the sheets on his side were soaked, and felt a little sting of guilt as he rolled over to his own side. 

He couldn’t get the thoughts to scatter. Something had started within him, trying to make him succumb. Now, he felt hot.

He heard his footsteps. Instead of coming back to bed he, apparently went into the bathroom. As the sound of running water started, he exhaled. No, it was definitely not a time for engaging him in anything. He was still unwell. He tried to convince himself to go back to sleep but his thoughts got more and more colourful, more and more aware. His wishes were starting to take over.

He got out of his t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He was burning up, he realised. What would happen when he came back to him, to his side, he wondered. He knew what he wanted but he wasn’t sure it was a possibility. Not right now.

As soon as the shower got turned off, he heard his steps almost immediately. He closed his eyes, tried to make the pounding within to calm down. But it was difficult making it so when he was hearing him, sensing him. Realising that he got back into bed. Why was he even holding his breath, all of a sudden?

He listened to his breathing. How it really was a good illustration of the person he was. Alive, determined, sometimes a bit forceful. In due time, the breaths became in tune with that other part of him. The soft, sensitive and reassuring part of him. He was going now, leaving him and those bothersome, prodding and demanding thoughts behind.

He made a decision, right then and there. He wanted to show him what he wanted. See if there was a possibility to get even closer. He turned around, saw the little he could of the contours of his back. He touched him, his back, as carefully as he could. Asking him a million questions, hoping to get nothing but one answer in return.

His hand acted like a scout, like it was out on a reconnaissance mission. Testing the borders, surveilling the territory. Inch by inch, until hand and arm were around him. He got caught. Which was exactly what he wanted. He felt his arm getting folded, his hand suddenly found itself being held in his, pressed against his chest. 

He got pulled closer. His back against his front was cool from the shower. Still a bit wet. He tried his best to keep his breathing in control. He realised that he wasn’t rewarded with the answer he was seeking, as his breaths became slow again. Threatening to lead him off. He felt a sting of disappointment all of a sudden. He thought that his intentions were being perfectly clear, like there wasn’t any room for doubts. Again, he was hit with the realisation that he was tired and unwell. Maybe even unwilling.

He wiggled his hand loose, right after he heard those telltale breaths. He let his hand rest on his hip, trying to see if there was a possibility to make him interested in what he wanted. He got no reaction, much to his dismay, and his hand resigned. Found a place where it could remain without any connotations to the fizz he felt on the inside. 

But even though he tried his best to forget, the thoughts remained. Even with his hand being still against his shoulder, without any kind of implications. The things he wanted him to do to him, just the mere flutter of it in his mind, made him quicken. No, he was going to be selfish, he realised. Just this once.

He put one leg over his, sliding his foot in between them in a try to stay in place. He felt his hip digging into his thigh as he tried to get comfortable. Feeling his back against him made him heady. He felt extremely self-conscious as he had to open his mouth to breathe, suddenly overcome with a clenching heat in the pit of his stomach. One that threatened to spread like wildfire.

He heard low sound. Almost a vibration against his chest, originating from the depths of him. The realisation that we was coming back, waking up slowly but surely, made him hold his breath. He tried to understand the conflict inside. Him needing everything he could give and everything he was desperately willing to take, being an egoist. Him not wanting to bother him even though he yearned and the hopeless inner struggle with everything he was to resist the temptation, being a masochist.

The result became something in between. He wanted, albeit with restraint. The hand on the shoulder moved almost on its own accord, found his hair where the fingers wanted to get entangled and never let go. He inhaled with his mouth close to his ear, acting extremely obvious. It made him frustrated and somewhat surprised that he got no reaction. But also, it made him bold. Totally convicted to his cause.

He put his hand on his thigh, almost cursing himself for still wavering. It was like it hovered above, although he wanted to grab, take hold, let everything dig in. Claim what he considered to be his and his alone. The touch finally became soft and not at all what he’d imagined. He put his cheek against his back, trying to let his breaths do the talking. Trying to make him understand, trying to make him turn around. Desperately wanting him to engage him. Looking for a mutual claim.

He let his lips touch his back, once, twice and then a couple more times, feeling more and more taken by the situation. How he needed him to react, to turn around, to see him. He decided to make him with what he had at his disposal.

His hand placed on his thigh travelled slowly. He relished the feel of him, wanted to stay there some more with his hand and mind but he was out for bigger prey. Bigger results. Bigger consequences. So, he made sure to drape his hand over the exposed hip as it continued up and around. Almost feeling the need to sigh, or make any kind of sound as he touched his stomach, feeling the muscles directly underneath the skin. Contracting and expanding with every breath.

He let it stay there, knowing that he would feel coarse hairs against his fingers if he continued. It wasn’t necessary to have that conversation. He’d shown him what he wanted by now. All he had to do was to wait.

And then, he turned around. Rolled over from his side to his back. He felt mortified that the conversation he was trying to avoid suddenly became the truth, as his hand felt what he’d been trying not to touch or seek out for that matter.

“Yuuri.” His voice was low, but it sounded booming in the pressing silence. “What do you want?”

He wondered if he flinched, and tried to mask it by sitting up. Letting his hand leave the territory that would ignite something else if bothered. He couldn’t believe the question, he couldn’t understand if he was teasing him or not. But one thing he did believe, one thing he understood was that he knew what he wanted. And he wanted him to provide. With any means possible.

He leaned in, placed his fingers on both sides of his neck. He was hoping that his hands wasn’t trembling, he didn’t want him to know how desperate he was. How needy he was. He prayed that the kiss would conceal it all.

It felt like fire inside. Like the intensity up until now was nothing than a small flicker. But he managed to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the roar. So, he left his lips before it was too late, but made sure to stay close. He wanted him to catch on, wanted him to see his urgency. 

His blue eyes were more gray than anything else as he looked at him. He seemed calm for some reason. Seemingly unaffected by what was going on between them. He saw his eyes narrow, just for a fraction of a second, but didn’t really understand why as his tongue found the taste he left behind on his lips.

He felt his lips move against his own, barely realising that he was speaking. He tried to concentrate on the words.

“Yuuri? You woke me up, play nice. What do you want?”

The question made his cheeks flare up. He removed his hands from the sides of his neck. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to tell him anything that would make him understand what was going on inside him. He just wanted him, no, needed him to know without words. He wanted him not to ask, just do.

Of course, he didn’t reply to his question. Not more than the gasp he couldn’t hold back when he grabbed his thigh, sinking his fingers into his flesh as he propped himself up. Having him so close, eye to eye, made him understand that Victor knew what he wanted. But, he realised that he was looking for something too. Something in return. He touched the back of his hand a little, hoping that he wasn’t looking for something more, since he could barely handle the here and now. He adjusted himself a little, and unintentionally touched his hip with his leg.

He responded immediately, gently digging his way into his jaw with his face. His hair tickled, as he heard his name spoken against his skin. Like an incantation, the tone made all the difference as the vowels pooled off his lips.

He felt more confident now, like he understood that he wouldn’t need any more persuasion. But still, he wasn’t doing anything. Or rather, he was doing things to him with the repeated questions, but not with him in the way he wanted him to. 

He touched his elbow, carefully. Tried to make sense of his reactions before deciding on following the lines of him, all that made him feel insatiable. He felt his shoulder before he ended up touching his collarbone, stroking it with reverence as his other hand found something equally as comforting to spend time with. 

“Love…” His voice was warmer now. It even sounded more patient than before. “What do you want?”

He couldn’t stop himself from drawing in air, a bit too loud, as he almost bit his shoulder. The teeth almost grazed and the tongue soothed. Suddenly, he wanted to tell him to… well, do all and everything, to ravage him and not stop. No matter how many nos and don’ts he would cry.

As he sat up, being deliciously close and almost challenging with those narrow gray eyes, he wondered what would happen if he… caved in. Told him.

The thought disappeared as he felt his fingers tearing into his back. Instead of feeling pain, he became aroused. His first instinct was to lean his head back and try to see that hand of his, what it was doing to him, but he got lost in the wave that crashed in and just breathed. Savoured the feeling of the red lines he knew would show.

He was unprepared. He wasn’t sure if he felt the hand at the hip first, or the one that held on to him by the bend of his knee. But suddenly, he was on top of him and the sought after covenant became so very real. 

He was naked underneath him. He felt it, felt him between his legs. The mere thought of it being so made him react, the sensation of it being so made him aroused and pulsating. He looked down at him with his elbows resting on his shoulders. He was about to explode, feeling the need to breathe but barely being able to even though all he did was panting. It was as if he was consumed by the scorching lust, making his mouth dry.

He suddenly felt lost, like he wasn’t conscious anymore. His heart hurt, telling him to take action. To do, do, do, do, with every beat. His hands were moving almost by themselves, touching him everywhere, not knowing when to stop. He wanted to feel him, every single part of him at the same time. He wanted to claim him, never let him go. It was like a frenzy, feeling his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his back. He wanted more, but his mind told him to stop, take it easy.

He did, once both of his hands got entangled into the silver hair. Hoping that there was a possibility for him to stay there, without further provocation. But he had started him up, he realised, as he felt his hand trailing down his his back. Past the indisputable border of the waistband of his underwear. His hand was grabbing him, feeling him. Telling him to lose the little control he still had in him, somewhere.

“Tell me. Tell me love,” he said as he continued to tease, not letting him get a single second of respite. 

Oh, he was so close. So close to telling him to take him and not pay him any respect at all. But when he flexed his hips underneath him, just once, and caught the movement with his hands on his hips, he gave up. He couldn’t fight himself or him anymore. Not without being consumed prematurely.

He bowed down his head, feeling faint. Letting a small mewl escape him. Thankful for his shoulder acting as a support. He had to sigh, feeling a thousand blissful sensations at the same time. He knew that he was done. He would appease him, give in. Give himself to him in every way he could think of.

“I…” He tried. But he got pushed away from his shoulder. He had to whimper when he saw what his tongue was doing, what his lips continued. It felt otherworldly. Like they channelled lightning, punishing him and giving him deliverance at the same time with the cool wetness that followed.

“I… ngh…” He wanted for it to continue. For it to end. 

He could hear himself breathe, making pathetic noises with every exhale. He found him in that haze, in that sweet moment of charity. Feeling like he was being burned on a pyre.

“I’m… I’m horny. Please, Victor, I can’tㅡ” 

As he got silenced by a mouth that drew out the very last breath he had in him, he let go. Being reduced to nothing but a raging desire and a body that wanted more.


End file.
